


Everything Starts Somewhere Else

by EveSpring



Series: Let Your Arrow Fly [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Pre-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:45:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveSpring/pseuds/EveSpring
Summary: Clint and Phil are left to their own devices after a mission gone awry.  This is not the way things were supposed to happen, but it is how they happened nonetheless.It started out all so innocently, even if Phil won't ever believe it.This is a companion fic for Everything Starts Somewhere by SaltyCostumer, which is from Phil's point of view.  <3





	Everything Starts Somewhere Else

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everything Starts Somewhere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565489) by [SaltyCostumer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyCostumer/pseuds/SaltyCostumer). 



Never trust a mission to go as planned. when something seemed to be going smooth as silk, something was usually going seriously wrong behind the scenes. This one was no different; as much as Clint trusted his handler, things rarely went according to plan once the ball started rolling. So when everything turned southward, Clint was prepared, and naturally took instructions from his handler with a crisp, clear, “Yes, sir.” No matter what the order was.

Being told to lay low, to sit still, was similar to being tortured. Two weeks? Clint knew he was going to drive Coulson insane. 

He tried to sit still. He really, honestly did try. But regardless of his intention, Clint began to fidget. It happened when he was nervous, especially post-mission, when he was still keyed up, and add in the fact that he was sharing a safe house with someone he was attracted to, someone he most definitely should not have a damn crush on, well, Clint was overflowing with nervous energy, and it demanded an outlet. When he caught Coulson watching him fidget with his beer bottle (in Coulson's watching-but-not-watching way), well, that piqued Clint's curiosity.

There was an ongoing pool in SHIELD about just what, exactly, Coulson's  
sexuality was, and it ranged from "he's an LMD and does not understand  
human intercourse" to "prefers sheep" to "secretly married” to “secretly married to Director Fury’s sister”… 

Clint had seen plenty of people watch him. Some because they knew he was dangerous, some because he was their target. Some people watched him because he was odd, and still others watched out of appreciation for what he could do. But a whole lot of people, including some that fell into the previous categories, watched him because they found him attractive. 

And the way Coulson was looking at him? That fell squarely into the last category. 

So Clint tested his theory. He made food, and asked Coulson to taste it, holding the spoon himself. Every so often, about once or twice a day for the past two days, he did something flirtatious, something he’d do to get the attention of someone he was attracted to, and paid attention to his handler’s reaction without letting on that he was watching.

He couldn’t be entirely certain. Agent Coulson was a phenomenal agent, a spy’s spy, so to speak, and even Clint wasn’t sure if he had an accurate read on him. Four days into their little exile, Clinton Barton was growing downright desperate to know what the hell was going on in his handler’s head. When Day Four of the Eternal Exile of Ecstasy and Excruciation dawned, Clint had had enough. He was through with games and guesswork. So he took a long, hot shower, towel dried his hair but let it stay sticking up just right, running his fingers through it to get the right effect, and put on the sexiest pair of jeans he had with him. The ones that hugged his ass. The ones he brought in case he needed to seduce or distract a mark. 

Yeah, _those_.

Of course Clint knew the rules. He worked at SHIELD, he knew what was and wasn’t allowed. And he also said, with all respect, “Fuck that shit.” Because you were going to want who you wanted, love who you loved, regardless of protocols or regulations. 

It didn’t take him that long to find an opportunity to see if Coulson was really and truly watching him. He needed something to do do, and checking his arrows, getting them field ready, hey, that was a good thing, something soothing and familiar. And his quiver, which held his arrows, was in his duffel. His messy, overfilled, already-dug-through, duffel. With all the confidence of a man who knows what he has to offer the eyes, Clint crossed the room and went directly for the duffel bag, leaning over to dig through it. 

Aw, Nat, you packed some of your tea. That was going to come in useful! That was his girl; Clint would love her forever and ever. And right as his hands settled on the tea, and began to reach for the small quiver, he could feel eyes on him. 

There was only one set of eyes in the room aside from his own. Glad for the fact that his face was hidden by his body, Clint grinned in victory, keeping his voice mostly even, though he couldn’t hint the thread of excitement that wove its way through his tone, “You’re checking out my ass.” Really, he was just as surprised as he was gleeful. 

“Agent Barton,” Clint was waiting for the reprimand, or maybe the admission. And Phil Coulson _repeated_ himself! “Agent Barton, this is a small place. It’s more or less inevitable that I’m going to look at you at some point. But the fact that I glanced in your direction does not mean that I am quote ‘checking out your ass’ end quote.”

He had him! Pulling his face into a victorious, even teasing, smirk, Clint straightened and turned to look at his handler, “No. The fact that you’re checking out my ass is what means you’re checking out my ass. You’ve been checking me out for the entire day, matter of fact.” He hadn’t been sure before, but now? Now he was sure.

“I haven’t been ‘checking you out’. I’ve just been noticing that you aren’t wearing your shirt, and wondering if I should make sure that our next mission is in a cool climate.” Oh? Was Clint so hot that Agent Coulson needed to cool off? Was that it?

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” It was the truth, spoken plainly, even if Coulson didn’t realize that. He crossed the room, moving closer to Coulson, “You and me, in a tent in the woods. Snow all around, sleeping bags zipped together so we can stay warm…” So sue him if he were mentioning something he’d dreamed about once. Or twice. Hey, Phil Coulson was a damn sexy man. No one would blame Clint. No one.

But Agent Coulson closed his eyes and looked as though he were trying not to murder Clint on the spot, and Clint worried that he’d crossed the line. He did that… He’d be fine for a while, and then he’d do something entirely stupid without meaning to, and it would cost him something good or dear. 

“Dammit, Agent Barton. What is it that you think that you’re doing?” The words were bitten out, and Clint barely suppressed a grimace.

This is why you can’t have nice things, Clint. Because you fuck everything up, every damn time. And yet… He couldn’t help himself. “I want you to admit that I’m not going nuts and seeing things just because I want to see them.” He spoke carefully, as neutrally as he could, knowing that if he said this, it couldn’t be unsaid, and he could lose. Big time. He could lose all of it; his job, his friendship and partnership with Natasha, but most of all, he could lose having Phil Coulson in his life. It was a gamble, and for the first time in a long time, Clint had things he didn’t want to gamble with, things he didn’t want to lose. “That you’re into me the same way that I’m interested in you.”

Interested in. Hell, who was Clint kidding. He was gone for Phil Coulson. Had been for ages. The first and only man he respected and trusted. The one person he would take an order from without fail. 

“And if I do that? What then? Break up the team? Inflict you and Natasha on some poor, unsuspecting soul?”

Please, please god, don’t let this mean he’d fucked it all up. “Not hardly. What we do,” he shook his head, using it as an excuse to case his exists one more time as well as to not have to look Coulson in the eyes, “Is we find a way to make it work. Just like we pulled it off in Santa Clara, just like we pulled it off this time. Just like we always pull it off.”

He didn’t hold his breath, but it was near thing. Only training and focus kept Clint breathing evenly while he waited for Coulson to respond. “We’ll have to keep it a secret.”

He’d known that. “I can live with that.”

“Even from Natasha.”

Clint all but laughed. “Are you kidding? She’s the one who told me you wanted to get into my pants.” It was true. Nat was a good bro.

“Okay, not from Natasha. But she’s the only one.”

This was too good to be true. But Clint heard himself speaking before he registered exactly what had just happened. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Kudos and Comments are always, always appreciated (No need for anything negative, please!). Hopefully there will be more fics forthcoming! ^_^


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